


Swelter

by Arya_Greenleaf



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Kylo Ren, M/M, Masturbation, Sweat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-24 13:07:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12013392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arya_Greenleaf/pseuds/Arya_Greenleaf
Summary: In a too-warm room for two, Ren thinks Hux has fallen asleep.





	Swelter

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write something sexy and it wasn't the right time for it in [Major/Minor](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11260965). Then staryaoirs posted [this comic on tumblr](http://avaahren.tumblr.com/post/164995195799/staryaoirs-o) and this just kind of happened. This is ridiculously porny at least compared to what I usually write, but there is a plot if you squint and kind of tilt your head to the left.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it?

The recycled atmo feels syrupy, heavy and sweet as it hangs over the bed. The heat is dialed high, a personal preference of the general. It is a small show of control. These rooms are his private domain, even if he must share command of his ship. His bedmate doesn’t prefer the cold, but certainly does not enjoy the cloying warmth the way he does—so different from the perpetual chill of Arkanis.

Hux hisses and jerks his head to the side, trying to avoid the salty sting of the sweat that beads on the tip of Ren’s nose and drops. It slides over his cheek, tracking down the line of his jaw. Ren gasps, his slick thighs sliding against Hux’s hips, nearly toppling as he so diligently works himself over.

Hux grabs a hank of his thick, dark hair and pulls him down. He makes a sound that falls somewhere between amusement and snarling, biting at lips that only hours ago were threatening the New Republican senator in interrogation. Something tight grips in the pit of his stomach, and Hux grips the hair in his hand all the tighter.

It thrills him, the many ways in which Ren’s wicked mouth is used for his pleasure. It’s a pretty thing, plush and ripe with no business being that way. No warrior needs to look so tempting, especially one who insists on hiding himself away from the galaxy.

Hux shivers, biting and licking between the desperate little kisses Ren is stealing. He cants his hips up, plants his feet against the mattress. It’s the very least he can do to help Ren along, to give him a better angle. It helps with the slip-slide that seems to be so frustrating for him. Ren moves in faster, jerkier motions and presses his face into Hux’s, nose dug into the crease of his cheek and mouth insistent against the corner of his lips.

The senator had cried, fat red tears rolling down their cheeks, staining blue skin and dropping down into white chersilk. It was horrific to watch, unlike anything Hux had seen before. He had experience with this species, sitting in on negotiations on their homeworld early on in his officer’s career—but he’d never seen one reduced to a blubbering mess in that way. Ren had hardly needed to lay any pressure on at all, so frightened the senator had been by his modulated voice and the chrome-and-black visage he presented—totally unaware of the soft thing underneath, the generous mouth that had been whispering threats.

Hux imagines the senator now, crying their gory tears in the corner of a detention cell. The thing in his stomach sinks lower, settling into his groin and tightening. He twists his fingers in the silky hank of hair he’s gripping and Ren yelps softly, his rhythm faltering in a barely perceptible way.

Ren tilts his hips back, pressing his cock down against Hux’s stomach. It’s hot and heavy and hard enough against him that Hux thinks it must be painful. He wonders fleetingly as Ren’s cock drools against him, sweat and precome an increasingly slippery mess, if Ren holds back—if it’s a trained practice or some inappropriate use of his mystic prowess.

Hux grabs at Ren’s thigh, digging his short-shorn nails into the meat of it, willing his own hips not to move, determined to make Ren work for it. Ren’s breath is warm and wet against the corner of his mouth and his knuckles press into Hux’s shoulder where his fist is curled into the pillowcase.

“ _Hux_ ,” he breathes, breaking the name up into three staccato syllables. He makes a sound like he’s exerting too much effort, a trooper with a busted gravlift. His solid weight bares down against Hux’s body, the pressure between them and the insistence of his hips driving him toward climax.

Something like a sob bubbles up from the depths of him, loud against Hux’s cheek in the otherwise quiet room. He empties himself, hot and wet and pulsing, against Hux’s belly. Ren continues to rock in short, sharp motions, gasping with overstimulation and smearing the mess between them.

“Hux, _please_.” Ren sucks in a shuddering breath and his thighs shake. Hux grips tighter, knowing Ren’ll bruise and imagining the neat little crescents of petechiae that his nails will leave and how they’ll spread across Ren’s pale skin.

He can’t hold back, slamming his hips up to meet Ren and barely registering the sharp slap of wet skin-on-skin while he comes.

He barely has time to catch his breath before Ren is rolling off of him and his cock is slipping out. He glances down at himself and laughs breathlessly. He is a mess of cum and sweat and lubricant, his position befitting a brothel-boy much more than a General of the First Order. Beside him, Ren grins and tugs lazily at his own half-hard cock and Hux can feel the pinprick of pressure between his eyes that so often accompanies Ren’s habit of picking through his thoughts. He squeezes his eyes shut as his own cock gives an interested twitch, too physically spent to indulge it.

Hux groans and rolls out of bed, scanning the floor for something to clean himself up with. He picks up his own undershirt and begins to wipe. The thing is torn anyway, Ren’s impatience hazardous to his clothing even on the best of days. He’ll drop the soiled thing down the garbage chute rather than make any attempt to salvage it. He tosses it toward Ren who grimaces and frowns but makes use of it anyway before dropping it lazily back on the floor.

Hux ignores his impulse to pick it up again and slinks back into bed, pulling the plush duvet up over his shoulder as he goes. “Give our guest the rest of gamma-shift to rest. I imagine they’ll be much more useful to you if they aren’t completely incoherent.”

Ren shrugs and pushes the duvet away from himself. “It makes no difference.” He yawns and stretches.

Hux narrows his eyes, watching Ren get settled and thanking his foresight upon taking control of the _Finalizer_ for installing the transfer-resistant mattress. Ren’s fidgeting and flopping is problematic at best and Hux intends to sleep before he is due back on the bridge for beta-shift.

He watches Ren settle in, sweat still beading at his hairline and dripping slowly over the back of his neck. Skin still flushed and radiating heat, Ren tucks his arm beneath the pillow under his head and closes his eyes. It doesn’t take long Ren to relax into slumber, his breathing becoming deep and slow.

Hux burrows down into the heat of the bedding, his body feeling heavy and loose.

Sleep evades him.

It’s Ren’s fault, really. For insisting on beginning the interrogation before their own meeting. Now, without the distraction of Ren’s body, his head is swimming with all of the half-formed confessions the senator had made under Ren’s gaze.

The Republic was no longer insisting on ignorance where the Resistance was concerned. Their active, if not completely up-front support of Organa’s band of misfits and two-credit criminals meant that the latter would be harder to catch. They’d have better tech, better starcraft, more supplies.

But what was most concerning, far above all of the other inconveniences, was the implication that the Resistance had _somehow_ managed to embed an operative in Hux’s well-oiled operation.

Ren may not care if their guest was entirely lucid or not, but Hux needed whatever intelligence he could possibly procure and he needed it in a way that would not require a team of medipsych officers and code breakers to decipher it.

Sighing, resigned to consciousness, Hux reached out from beneath the covers to paw at the remote resting on the bedside console. The wall behind the bed emitted a soft pneumatic hum, shutters sliding away to flood the room with the soft, silvery light of realspace beyond the expanse of transparisteel that now obviously made up the stretch of the wall.

Hux propped himself up on an elbow, watching the lazy wobble of the asteroid belt they were hovering near for some minutes, trying to put his concerns from his mind. Unable to, he traded the remote for his datapad and began to review what information he had.

Tapping out a quick few lines of code, Hux filtered his way through personnel files of officers and troopers and agents alike, looking for some anomaly that might reveal the mole. He doubted it would be someone new, either to the Order itself or their current position. Organa was old but she wasn’t senile. That would be too obvious. It would need to be someone who had been around for a while, someone who might be slowly turned over time. Perhaps it wasn’t a _someone_ at all—it had occurred to Hux more than once that managing to compromise a droid without detection would be beneficial to the Order’s objectives—one close to Organa like that golden protocol monstrosity—

Hux heard rather than felt Ren shift beside him, the quiet rustle of bedding as he turned onto his side. Hux peered over his shoulder at Ren, the mound of his body like formless marble in the light from the nearest system. Ren stilled, sniffing softly and settling in again. Hux turned back to the soft glow of the datapad.

Minutes pass, the text begins to swim on the screen and faces in files merge into a single awkward-looking entity.

Again Hux heard the shift and slide of bedding, the weave of the pillowcase against the mattress cover. Ren made a displeased sound and tugged the duvet up and over his shoulder. Hux frowns, watching him fidget for a moment, hands and legs moving beneath the bedding before stilling once more.

Hux returns his attention to sifting through files once more. He is tapping a new line of code into the system when he is interrupted by Ren’s disquiet _again_.

Hux thinks for a moment, that Ren is having a nightmare.

“ _Hhha—aah!”_ Ren seems to be trying to stay quiet, his voice a distressed breath of sound. Hux cocks his head, curiosity peaked.

Ren’s thick hair plastered down with drying sweat, a damp mark against the pillow case slowly diffusing. It is drawn in a shining clump behind his ear—the shell of which has gone bright red. As Hux watches, sweat beads up at his temple and slides over the prominent curve of his cheek. His breath comes in short little _huffs!_ and while his legs have settled, his upper-body is moving in short, jerky bursts.

The duvet slips down over Ren’s shoulder and Hux sets the datapad aside.

“Ren,” he whispers, still wary that his bedmate may be sleeping. He turns and leans close, peering over his shoulder. “Ren? Are you…” Hux trails off, momentarily stunned. “Are you touching yourself?”

Ren shudders, the involuntary movement wracking him from top to toe. He stops, fingers tight around the base of his hard, leaking cock. He hides his bright-burning face against his hand, leaning forward into the pillow. “I thought you fell asleep.”

“I was—I was looking through files.” Hux looks over his shoulder at the datapad, the backlight of the screen relatively low. He supposes Ren might not have noticed. Hux shifts closer, kicking the duvet away completely. “Why’ve you stopped?”

Ren groans openly and resumes stroking, his pace slow and methodical. Hux curls his body close, mouthing softly at Ren’s shoulder, watching. Ren turns his face, biting sloppily at the bit of Hux’s nose and brow he can reach. Hux responds by biting down, sinking his teeth into the meat of Ren’s shoulder. His bicep tightens and trembles, he slows and squeezes.

“Touch me?”

Hux reaches across his body, fingers ghosting over the curve of his hip—the planes of his stomach—he pinches a blushing nipple, twists it and lets go. His fingers meander over Ren’s chin and across his lips, slipping inside. He runs the pads of his fingers over Ren’s teeth, feeling sharp edges and smooth bumps. He glides over Ren’s tongue and presses down until he sputters and coughs, saliva creeping out from the corners of his mouth and glistening on his chin.

Hux withdraws, lingering with his knuckles against Ren’s plump bottom lip.

“Hux, _please_ ,” he says, desperate and slick and husky with it.

Hux obliges, slipping his spit-wet fingers down to rub at Ren’s hole, still tired and relaxed from their play. It _squelches_ , spit and too much lubricant and Hux himself, and Ren draws in a sharp breath, his body tensing. He curls his fingers toward himself, pressing his knuckles forward into the firm spot inside that sets Ren’s legs to twitching.

His toes flex, legs tensing, eyes squeezing shut. “Wait,” he groans, letting go of himself and gently swatting Hux away.

Hux watches Ren shift onto his stomach and then his knees. He braces himself, a big hand flat against the viewport. The transparisteel fogs almost immediately under and around his palm.

Hux makes a fist and drags his knuckles against Ren’s cleft. He hangs his head down between his shoulders, laughing softly. “Not today—just keep touching me.”

Hux rises to his knees, leaning into Ren. He rests his chin on Ren’s shoulder, sucking and biting at the shell of his ear as he sinks his fingers back in, keeping his rhythm in tune with the stroking that Ren has resumed. He watches as sweat drips down the concave curve of Ren’s spine wanting lick along the shining path it leaves.

It’s not long before Ren is tensing and shuddering. Lubricant drips slowly down the inside of his thigh and stains the mattress cover, cloudy with Hux’s earlier expenditure. Ren comes with a gasp, a slow pulse over his still-flying fingers.

He leans forward, resting his head against his forearm on the viewport. He turns enough to peer at Hux with one eye while he mouths lazily—possessively—against Ren’s shoulder.

Hux places his lips close to Ren’s ear. He whispers, “I’m not sleeping on that kriffing pillow now.”

**Author's Note:**

> [yell at me about sw over on tumblr or leave a comment down below?](http://avaahren.tumblr.com)


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